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Paulie winced. “ What? ”

Argi’s eyes thinned. “Means, I think, he and his guys’ll help us fuck the rednecks over.”

“Oh. Well, no, see,” Paulie explained. “We’re Italian. It’s just the way it is. Whatever piece of work we do, it’s gotta be us that does it.”

“But what are we gonna do?” Cristo pondered.

Paulie rubbed his eyes. “Shit, man. I don’t know. We don’t know anything about these guys.” He looked to Prouty. “Doc. You’re the smart one. How can we get these guys back?”

Dr. Prouty gulped. “Ah, well, sir, let me give the query some consideration—hmm. Well, one possibility, I suppose, is thus: we’ll simply venture to their abode. You may recall, the youngster you remunerated money to in exchange for him delivering the DVD player to this man Helton Tuckton. He did give us what seemed to be serviceable directions to the domicile.”

“Yeah, you’re right! That little redneck kid!”

“And though he implied that the Winnebago was likely too large and cumbersome to safely navigate the road to Mr. Tuckton’s house, did he not declare that it was only a mile’s distance?”

“Yeah!”

Dr. Prouty nodded. “Then we’ll merely dispatch ourselves to the Tuckton residence. If Mr. Tuckton and/or his kin are home, then…” Prouty’s brow shot up.

Paulie grinned through grinding teeth. “We’ll do an action on ’em that’d make the Devil shit his pants!”

“And in the event that no one is present at the time of our arrival”—Prouty shrugged—“then we could, say, set fire to their abode, film it while it’s burning, then email the video file to them.”

Paulie clapped. “Perfect! You’re a genius, Doc!”

“Great thinkin’,” Argi said.

Cristo seemed giddy. “And, man, I love burnin’ houses down. And if any of ’em are there, we can even burn the house with them in it!”

“Yeah!” Paulie’s grim mood swing had reversed. “All right, it’s set. Are we ready? Oh, and Doc? Looks like you get to be camera man again.”

“I’m…exuberant with the opportunity,” Prouty said

Paulie chugged some grape soda. “Aw, yeah! I feel much  better now, guys!”

All of the others breathed a sigh of relief.

The prospect now of revenge thrilled Paulie.

“You guys skyin’ up now? ”

Paulie winced. “ What? ”

Argi made a contemplation. “Think he means are we goin’ to do the job tonight, boss.”

“Oh. Well, fuck yeah,” the don confirmed. “Why not? The sooner the better, right?”

“Sure, boss.” Cristo said.

Paulie looked around. “Where’s the other guy, the pepper-belly? Shit, he’s never here.”

Case Piece and Sung exchanged a quick glance. “Oh, my dawg Menduez? He out gettin’ blunky with the monkey, you know, doin’ the dop. You hip to that hop? Walkin’ the scag-man bop’n watchin’ junkies cop. He’s mizzlin’ and Mcdizzlin’ and slingin’ and blingin’ and thrillin’ and spillin’n flippity, frippity frop .”

Paulie spat out a mouthful of grape drink. “ What? ”

“Don’t’cha know? He’s our toppest slinger, blood. He on the grooves’n bustin’ moves. He’s jackin’ down ’cos he’s top as a crown.”

Argi sighed. “Shit, boss, I think he means the guy’s out takin’ care of business.”

“Right,” Case Piece said.

Paulie shook his head. “You sell any of that smack yet?”

Case Piece cocked a glance. “Fo’ shizzle, my mizzle!”

Paulie spat out more grape drink. “ What? ”

Argi rubbed his face. “Means, I think, yeah, boss, they sold some smack.”

Case Piece forked his ‘fro. “Shit, Paulie. We slung two keys in two motherfuckin’ days. First key we couldn’t kick out the door fast enough. Mid-bags from Radford, Roanoke, shit, all over, they come’n take it off our hands faster than it take Sung to come.”

“Aw, fruck you, Clase!” Sung laughed.

“Second key we peddled ourselves right here. All’s a sudden the junkies are out. Maybe my man Obama got more’a them stimulus checks mailed ’cos, fuck,  last week we couldn’t sell shit’ n this week we got more hypes with green in their hands than Florida’s got old people.”

“Well, fuck, that’s great,” Paulie said, but his distraction was evident. He seemed to beam through some inner joy. “Keep sellin’ that smack. Keep, uh, rizzlin’ and McFizzlin’ or whatever the fuck.” He snapped his fingers. “Ready, guys?”

Paulie’s men were.

“Then let’s split, or…sky up, or whatever the fuck. Oh, and tell your whore I’m sorry I stuck her head back in Melda’s cunt.”

“Fo’ shizzl”—but then Case Piece let it slide. “I’ll tell her, man.”

Paulie and his men made their exit into the night. All of them, save for Dr. Prouty, were rubbing their crotches for no apparent reason.

— | — | —

Chapter 9

(I)

Veronica awoke at daybreak, frowning at her recollection of the most hideous nightmare. Abducted by rednecks, she thought with a shudder but then she looked around to find herself in a reeking sleeping bag with one wrist handcuffed to a metal table in the back compartment of a large truck. The sound inside was akin to that of a bear cave, her three “hosts” snoring like machines. Micky-Mack and Dumar each lay on the floor in their own sleeping bags while Helton slept sitting upright in the corner.

Veronica choked back tears upon the eventual recognition that none of this was a nightmare. It was all real.

Just a few days before Christmas…and here I am…

Dim morning light flowed from the front windshield through the shower curtain.

The snoring went on an on.

Oh, for goodness sake! her thoughts shrilled. She had to urinate. Her nose crinkled at the sleeping bag’s stink as she clumsily crawled out. She took the empty bean can, frowned hard at it, then, with great awkwardness, pulled her pants and panties down, squatted, then began to void in the can. Her nose crinkled again, for her urine smelled like Veggie Chips.

The nearly musical chime of the stream hitting the can woke the others at once.

“Well, hey there, Veronnerka,” Helton greeted and stretched his great arms. “Havin’ yerself a pee, huh? I’se’ll tell ya. First pee’a the day’s a saturs-fyin’ thing indeed, ain’t it?”

Veronica couldn’t fathom a response.

Dumar shrugged out of his bag. “‘Mornin’ Veronnerka! And hows are you doin’ today?”

Veronica, still in the awkward squat, glared. “I’m peeing!”

“Ya sleep well, I’se hope?”

How could I possibly have slept WELL?

Micky-Mack was awake too, and looked right at her with eyes abloom. “Hot dang! I’se love seein’ a gal with a purdy pussy takin’ a pee!” He was obviously rubbing his crotch. “Puts some lead in my pencil, yessir!”

Veronica finished, frustrated to tears, and pulled her pants back up. When she tried to sit down—

clang!

“Oh NO!”

—the awkward movement caused her to knock the bean can over with her elbow, and all that warm urine flowed right beneath her.

The men all laughed.

“It’s NOT FUNNY!” she screamed. “My pants are DRENCHED!”

“Ain’t nothin’ but a li’l pee,” Dumar said.

Helton chuckled. “Gals shore do get bitchy ’bout the littlest things.”

Micky-Mack was grinning, sniffing the air. “Ya know? There’s sumpthin’ ’bout the smell of a purdy gal’s pee gits my dick dribblin’.”